Leslie's Early Years: Simon Says
by FantasyIslander65
Summary: Leslie is assigned to watch the obnoxious, troublemaking son of a guest. Seventh and final in the 'Early Years' series; this one follows 'Homecoming' in the overall sequence of stories.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** _The last unposted story from those that take place during_ Fantasy Island_'s_ _actual run. This one directly precedes "Ghost of a Chance" in the timeline and includes Julie, who (in my calculations) was just finishing up her employment with Roarke. Thanks to jtbwriter and PDXWiz for taking the time to read and review these stories!_

* * *

§ § § -- July 17, 1982

Summer vacation was about half over when Leslie found herself involved in one of the more unusual fantasies Roarke had granted. For some reason, this weekend he had three groups of guests. A young man wanted to return to his childhood for a weekend; and there was one of the regular requests by an older man to shoot the Red Baron out of the German sky. Tattoo rolled his eyes at that; he had complained to Roarke at some point about always having to play the part of the Red Baron, and Roarke had finally agreed to let him off the hook for those fantasies.

It was the extra fantasy, however, that was to affect Leslie. She had no inkling of what lay ahead simply from looking at the pair who stepped out of the charter plane, dressed in highly tasteful—and extremely expensive—clothing. "I bet they're rich," Tattoo speculated, obviously seeing dollar signs again.

"For once, you are correct," Roarke said wryly, "and I might add that you will be very happy to hear that Mrs. Catherine Lightwood-Wynton has paid us the princely sum of one million dollars to grant her fantasy."

"A million dollars!" Tattoo breathed, eyes feverishly bright. _"Sacre bleu!"_

"What kind of fantasy is worth a million dollars?" Leslie wanted to know.

"A very unusual and difficult one," Roarke said. "Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton has always dreamed of seeing the world; but her life in the English countryside north of London keeps her secluded at home. She married into a very rich family twenty-three years ago, and ever since then her life has been an endless swirl of society balls and parties attended by people who come merely to see and be seen. She has found all this deadly dull, and has finally decided to put some of the family money to what she feels is a better use. Her fantasy is to travel around the world alone."

"Oh, come on, Mr. Roarke," scoffed Julie. "All the way around the world in just one short weekend?"

"In a week, actually," Roarke said. "Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton has mapped out her itinerary in extraordinary detail. The catch is…"

"Catch!?" Tattoo blurted. "It'll be hard enough to send her on a trip like that, even in a week, without there being a catch on top of that!"

Roarke smiled. "Are you suggesting, my friend, that the fantasy is too difficult?"

"Well," Tattoo mused, "you did say she paid a million dollars. But that's still a lot of work without something else added to it."

"Enough already," Leslie said. "What's the catch?"

"The catch," Roarke replied with a strangely anticipatory smile, "is that Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton wants to make her trip in the ancient pasts of each country she plans to visit. And that is why she will be here until the morning of July 26, so that she will have the opportunity to spend a little time in each country of her choice."

"Who's the kid with her?" Julie asked, at last drawing notice to the other half of the duo. Roarke smiled again, casting a sidelong glance at Leslie.

"He is the lady's eighteen-year-old son, Simon Cameron Lightwood-Wynton IV," he said. "And it so happens that, while he apparently insisted on accompanying his mother here to Fantasy Island, he has no interest in taking her trip with her. So he will be staying in the Lightwood-Wynton mansion in the Enclave—and you, Leslie, will be his companion for the week while his mother is gone."

Leslie turned and stared at him, completely stunned. _"What?"_ she demanded.

"What for?" Tattoo asked for her, himself curious.

"Well, obviously he can't stay there alone," Roarke said. "His mother asked that I provide him with a sort of live-in guide during her absence, so that Simon won't become overly bored and possibly get into trouble as a result. But it is his first trip ever to Fantasy Island, and he has no idea what to do. Thus, he needs someone to show him, and I felt that since the two of you are close in age, you were the natural choice."

Leslie gaped at him, still too flabbergasted to speak; and before she could recover, a native girl brought Roarke's drink, with which he proceeded to toast his latest guests. She turned slowly and stared at Simon Lightwood-Wynton, who was peering and his surroundings and looking less than impressed. _I think I want to strangle someone,_ she thought dazedly, _but I'm not quite sure who…_

‡ ‡ ‡

Catherine and Simon Lightwood-Wynton were waiting at the main house when Roarke came back with Leslie and Tattoo, having assigned Julie to the World War I fantasy and Tattoo to that of the man who wanted to revisit his youth. Tattoo greeted the British visitors before closeting himself inside the time-travel room to make final preparations therein, leaving Roarke and Leslie with the Lightwood-Wyntons.

"So," Roarke said, seating himself at his desk with Leslie standing beside his chair at his left. "You have a most unusual and fascinating fantasy, Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton. How long have you wished to embark upon such a journey?"

"Most of my life, I expect," Catherine said. She was a slender, refined blonde in her mid-forties, with a small pointed face dominated by a pair of large gray eyes. "I became interested in history at quite a young age, Mr. Roarke, and atop that, I've never been outside the United Kingdom until now. But I've always found the modern world quite boring, actually. So I thought touring my favorite countries early in their histories would be a truly stimulating experience."

"Indeed," Roarke agreed, nodding. "Your letter was of enormous interest to all of us, but it has turned out to be a singular challenge preparing to grant your fantasy. We have spent most of the summer since the closing of school making all the assorted preparations, and after an overwhelming amount of research and fact-checking, I believe we are finally ready to send you on your way. There is a specially prepared room in your mansion here on the island which will be your starting point, Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton, so I suggest we be on our way there without further delay."

"Carry on, Mr. Roarke, by all means," Catherine said and grinned. "Oh…I nearly forgot. Have you someone who can keep Simon entertained?"

"Really, Mum," Simon complained, rolling his eyes. He looked a lot like his mother, with the same gray eyes and dark-blond hair, though his face was more rounded and surprisingly attractive as a result. "Are you suggesting that I need a babysitter? The very idea is positively revolting."

"Not a babysitter," his mother corrected him in a placating tone. "Just a guide, Simon, dear, that's all. Someone who can show you around the island."

"And that someone is my ward, Leslie Hamilton," Roarke said. "She is seventeen years old, so I expect the two of you may find a certain number of things in common." Both Simon and Leslie stared at him dubiously, and he glanced back and forth at their nearly identical expressions and cleared his throat. "Shall we be on our way? Leslie, have you packed as I told you to do?"

"Packed?" Simon echoed before she could reply. "Does that mean she'll be living in the mansion with me, Mum? That sounds like babysitting to me…and frankly, I'm insulted, especially since she's younger than I."

Leslie eyed him narrowly while he raked her with a scathing look from head to toe. There was no question in her mind that this was going to be the worst week of her entire summer. _Maybe the entire year,_ she thought disgustedly.

"Really, Simon, do you truly think I'd let you stay there all alone for a week?" Catherine asked impatiently. "Staff are paid to keep you fed and the house tidy, not to entertain you the entire week. And before you remind me for the umpteenth time that you are now eighteen years old, let _me_ remind _you_ that you're not the most mature eighteen-year-old alive." She turned to Leslie and addressed her directly for the first time. "I hope you've friends you could introduce my son to. He has a tendency to spend his time with older boys, troublemakers. Frankly, Mr. Roarke, his father has grown quite weary of buying him out of assorted dust-ups, and he insisted I take Simon with me when I came here. Although, I might add, Simon seemed very interested in going."

Simon sneered. "That was before I found out you're leaving me with a chaperone."

Leslie wanted more and more to protest, but she didn't feel comfortable doing it in front of their guests; and she knew from past experience that Roarke wouldn't let her out of the problem anyway. He had a firm policy of seeing something through once it was begun, so that from time to time Leslie found herself in situations she'd have preferred to steer well clear of. This was definitely such a situation. On their way back from the wooden covered bridge Roarke sometimes used for time-travel fantasies, she'd realized that she wouldn't even get to come home to sleep in her own bed at night and had raised the biggest ruckus Roarke and Tattoo had ever witnessed from her; but it had done no good whatsoever. Roarke had been unswerving in his decision, and Tattoo had flatly refused to get involved; so that meant she was stuck with this spoiled rich kid from England.

"What about transportation?" she finally asked Roarke sullenly. "We'll need a car to get around the island if we expect to do anything outside the mansion."

"There's a chauffeured Mercedes at the mansion, Leslie," Catherine told her with a smile. "Neither you nor Simon will find it necessary to drive anywhere."

"Oh," she murmured, not certain whether she liked that idea. Her last excuse for a protest gone, she shrugged fatalistically and looked at Roarke again.

"If you're ready," he said with a raised eyebrow directed solely at her, "then we can leave right now."

So they all got into a station wagon, about which Simon made a couple of unflattering comments before his mother shushed him, and headed out onto the Ring Road. Leslie, finding herself curious about Catherine's fantasy, twisted in her seat enough to face their guest and asked, "Which countries are you planning to visit?"

Catherine's face lit with excitement. "Ancient Egypt during the time of King Tut; Norway in its Viking days; Japan in the time of the samurai; Russia when Catherine the Great ruled; India during the reign of Emperor Akbar; Mexico under the Aztecs; aboriginal Australia before it was discovered by Europeans; Turkey in the time of Suleiman the Great; and an American Indian tribe in the Great Plains during the early 1700s when the land was still utterly unknown to white settlers."

"Wow," said Leslie, honestly impressed. "What an amazing idea. It makes me wish I could go along with you."

"That would suit me just fine," Simon remarked.

"Simon, for heaven's sake," said Catherine, exasperated. "That's precisely what I mean by your not being the most mature eighteen-year-old. Even a child would know better than to insult one's hosts! I do apologize, Mr. Roarke and Leslie."

"That's quite all right, Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton," Roarke said, and Leslie cast him a quick glance that fairly screamed _oh no it's not!_ "I daresay that, out of necessity, the two of them will learn to get along with each other." She sighed and rolled her eyes; she would have been more than willing to get along if only Simon were. Unfortunately, it sounded as if Roarke was putting her in the same category with Simon!

There were about ten mansions in the Enclave; there might have been more, but all of them were surrounded by plenty of manicured landscaping, and this took up quite a bit of space. One of them couldn't be seen from the area's main thoroughfare; the only indication of its existence was a narrow dirt lane that traced a straight line between two rows of carefully trimmed fir trees and vanished into the vegetation. Simon peered along the lane and asked unexpectedly, "Where does that go?"

"To a secluded chateau that until recently belonged to the silent-film star Claude Duncan," Roarke told him. "Mr. Duncan passed away nearly eighteen months ago, and the building has been essentially abandoned since then."

"I see," murmured Simon, sitting back in his seat. Roarke, glancing in the mirror, saw Catherine give her son a suspicious look, but no one said anything. A moment or two later Roarke pulled into the long circular drive of the Lightwood-Wynton property, an unusual but attractive house built a bit like a cross between an oversized ski chalet and a castle. Two enormous, airy A-frame sections were flanked by round towers with battlements and separated by another such tower between them, which served as the main entrance. Leslie stared at the place with great interest, thinking it would be fun to explore in there.

"This is ours?" Simon asked, also staring, but clearly less enamored of it than Leslie was. "It's the smallest one on the lane, Mum."

"That's perfectly fine with me," Catherine said in a tone that told him to keep quiet. "Why maintain an enormous house when you're so rarely in it? Actually, Mr. Roarke, it might behoove us to put the house up for sale when my fantasy has run its course. I don't believe Cameron has ever been here, and it's the first time for both Simon and me."

"If that is your decision, then by all means contact me when you're ready," Roarke said. "For now, this is your home away from home, particularly in the case of Simon and Leslie. There is a full staff in residence, and the house should be ready for you."

They were greeted by said staff, nearly all Polynesian residents of the fishing village and overwhelmingly female; there were four maids, a cook, a laundress, two gardeners and the chauffeur, the only man. Roarke gestured at the staff to introduce themselves; the one non-Polynesian, one of the maids, was named Morelita Zuma. Of them all, she was the only one who greeted them by name. "Hello, Miss Leslie," she said with a slight bow.

"Hello," Leslie replied with a smile, wondering why it was that this lady knew her when the others apparently didn't. Of course, the fishing-village residents were largely unaware of the nature of Roarke's lucrative business; they knew who he was and were well aware that he was nearly singlehandedly responsible for elevating the islanders' standard of living many years before, but didn't know why. Leslie had been amazed when Roarke and Tattoo had told her during her first week on the island about the relative isolation of that village. It was astonishing in this day and age that anyone could still maintain such a distance from the rest of the world. In any case, she wasn't at all surprised when the rest of the staff simply smiled politely at her and directed their respectful bows to Roarke, whom they did recognize.

Once Simon and Leslie had been shown their rooms (which, to the satisfaction of both, were on opposite ends of the house), Roarke brought them to a small room off what Leslie assumed was the ballroom. It was windowless, like the time-travel room at the main house, and about fifteen feet on each side, so that there was plenty of room for assorted accoutrements of Catherine's fantasy. There was a photo of a pharaoh on one wall, beneath which stood a table that bore a small pyramid that looked remarkably like the real thing; a Viking ship model; an ugly stone Aztec god about four feet in height; a boomerang hung on another wall with a didgeridoo on a table beneath; a large, elaborately feathered headdress on a Styrofoam head; a samurai sword mounted on a third wall, flanked by old Japanese prints; a fifty-four-inch-high ceramic elephant, complete with jeweled golden howdah on its back; and on another table in the middle of the floor beside it, a Russian samovar and balalaika flanked an elaborately wrought golden filigree crown. Colorful, shimmering Turkish silks had been artfully draped from the ceiling, completing the montage of artifacts from the countries of Catherine's journey.

"How wonderful, Mr. Roarke!" exclaimed Catherine, picking her way around the room and examining the assortment of items. Leslie glanced down and smiled at the lavish Turkish carpet beneath their feet. "Is this where I start my trip?"

"Indeed it is," Roarke confirmed with a smile. "As you reach the end of each phase of the journey, you will momentarily find yourself in this room. You will notice that the various items are numbered." Catherine, noting the placard with the number 1 printed on it standing atop the little pyramid, nodded. "That is the order in which you will visit each country you have chosen. When you complete each stage of your trip and find yourself in this room, simply move on to the next number in sequence and you will be automatically transported to the corresponding country. You shall have one full day in each location. Do you have any questions?"

"Just one," said Catherine. "Is it all right to take this with me?" She lifted a small duffel in one hand. "It's an overnight bag, with essentials such as toothbrush and toothpaste, shampoo, soap and so on."

Roarke smiled. "I think that would be permissible, since you didn't request to live in the exact manner of the places you're going—only visiting." This was greeted with soft laughter from Catherine and Leslie; Simon only rolled his eyes. Roarke either didn't see him do it, or just ignored him. "When your fantasy has concluded, you will find Leslie here waiting for you. In your absence, the room will be locked and she will have the key, so that when you return here, she can let you out." He turned to Leslie and gave her a small silver skeleton key. "Don't lose this, Leslie, whatever you do. There is no other."

"I'll put it on a string and wear it all the time, Mr. Roarke," she promised.

"Good," he said with a smile and returned his attention to Catherine. "I believe all the details have been attended to. Are you ready to begin your fantasy?"

Catherine's eyes gleamed with excitement and she nodded rapidly. "Oh, that I am, Mr. Roarke, no question about it."

Roarke nodded, smiling at the anticipation that shone in her eyes. "In that case, why don't you stand here beside the pyramid. I will turn off the lights, and once we have left the room, close your eyes and count to five. When you open them again, your fantasy will have begun. May you have a most enjoyable trip, Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton."

"Thank you ever so much, Mr. Roarke," Catherine replied, turning and taking up a stance beside the table that bore the pyramid. She clutched her overnight bag and took a deep breath, watching them as they headed for the door, as though impatient for them to leave so she could get started. Roarke gestured Simon out the door first, then Leslie; he flipped the light switch down and then closed the door.

In the ballroom, Simon eyed Roarke doubtfully. "Can you really do what you say you can do?" he wanted to know.

Roarke only smiled. "You might ask your mother when she returns nine days from now. In the meantime, I have other duties. Leslie, if you need anything, just call at any time, and either Tattoo or I will see to your request. You might take Simon to the stables, since I expect he feels quite at home around horses." He patted her shoulder. "Have a good week, and I'll see you in a few days."

"Okay," she said quietly, resigned but still not happy about what she viewed as a lost week with a spoiled, ultra-rich snob. She followed Roarke as far as the door and hefted a large nylon duffel bag over her shoulder, with the intention of going up to the room that would be hers for the week and getting in touch with her friends to let them know where she was.

Roarke was barely five seconds out the door when Simon demanded, "So where are these alleged stables Mr. Roarke mentioned?"

"Northern side of the island," she replied curtly, though she strove to keep her voice polite. "Let me know what time you want to go."

"Immediately," Simon said.

Leslie stared at him, convinced he was doing this just to goad her. "Give me a few minutes to change my clothes, and we'll go," she said neutrally, though without warmth.

"Oh, very well," Simon agreed grudgingly. "I suppose I had better change as well if we're to ride. Five minutes, no more—I really need to move round."

_In that case, maybe you ought to walk all the way to the stables,_ Leslie thought, but managed to keep her mouth shut as she left the room. Once she made it to her own room, she swiftly changed into a pair of pale blue jeans and a casual white cotton top with wide straps that tied over the shoulders, then went to the phone on the bureau and dialed Myeko's number.

When Myeko came on the line, she said, "Hi, it's Leslie. What're you doing today?"

"Nothing," Myeko replied immediately. "How come?"

"I've got maybe half a minute to explain this," said Leslie, "but here's the thing in a nutshell. Mr. Roarke's assigned me to play guide to this rich kid from England while his mother's having a fantasy. The thing is, they're going to be here till almost the end of the month, so I actually have to live here in their mansion in the Enclave. The number here is 528, and one of the staff will pick up, so just ask for me and they'll send the call to the phone in my room here. Anyway…his mother wanted me to introduce him to my friends, which is a good thing, because I don't think I could spend the whole week just dancing attendance on him. He wants to go to the stables right now. Do me a favor and call the other girls and let them know, will you? There's a chauffeur here, so when you see a Mercedes pull up in front of your house, that's us. And when we get there, let me know who else can come."

"Wow," said Myeko. "Sounds cool to me. I'll call Michiko and ask her to get hold of Maureen and Frida, and I'll call Camille and Lauren. By the time you get here I should know how many of us there'll be."

"Great," said Leslie. "See you in a few." She hung up and tugged riding boots on her feet, her only concession to their planned activity; Simon was liable to show up in full riding regalia, she reflected, right down to beanie and crop! She stuffed a small bottle of sunscreen into one pocket, then left the room to see if she could find someone whom she could talk out of a length of string for the key Roarke had given her.


	2. Chapter 2

§ § § -- July 17, 1982

Simon was already standing beside the door; sure enough, he was resplendent in a brown-and-cream riding costume and was tapping the crop Leslie had figured he'd have against the side of one boot. "There you are," he snapped petulantly. "We haven't all day."

"Yes, we do," Leslie replied calmly. "I won't be another minute." She ducked down a hallway and made her way to the kitchen, where she found the cook and two of the maids at work on lunch. They all greeted her politely when she came in.

"Hi," she said and smiled. "Is there any string in here, by chance? I need about two feet of it." She displayed the key. "Mr. Roarke left this with me, and I figure the safest way to keep it is to wear it around my neck."

One of the maids found some string and cut off the requested length for her; she threaded the key onto it and was in the process of tying the ends into a complex and very tight knot when Simon appeared in the doorway, mouth open as if to make another demand. He paused and watched Leslie for a moment, then sighed loudly. "Come on, then!"

"I'll be right with you," Leslie said, scowling at her knot and adding another twist to it for good measure. "I guess that's good enough." She looped the string around her neck and turned to Simon. "Well, let's go."

In the long circular drive, Leslie told the chauffeur to make a stop in Tokoyama on Waipalani Lane. "There may be more," she said, "but we'll see when we get there."

"Of course, Miss Leslie," he said, and she got into the back seat of the limousine at a safe distance from Simon. Neither of them said a word till they had reached the cluster of four or five short cul-de-sacs known collectively as Tokoyama; then he sat up.

"These don't look like stables," he complained.

Leslie glanced at him and decided to simply ignore him for the moment. Myeko bounded out of her house and told her that Maureen and Frida were both busy, but Camille, Michiko and Lauren could all come. She got into the car and eyed Simon, who stared back at her with a disdainful expression.

"Who are you?" he finally asked.

"My name's Myeko Sensei, and I live here," she said. "Who're you?"

"Simon Lightwood-Wynton IV," was the reply, given with a bit of a sniff. "I suppose you've been invited to ride with us, then."

"Me and three other girls," Myeko said. "Just imagine it, Simon Lightwood-Wynton the fourth, you're going to be surrounded by loads of members of the opposite sex. And we're all pretty good-looking too, so you ought to feel privileged."

Simon stared at her in disbelief, then rolled his eyes ostentatiously and pointedly directed his gaze out the window. Myeko looked at Leslie, winked and grinned, and Leslie smirked, half hiding it behind her hand.

Michiko and Camille joined them in short order; Michiko was her friendly, polite self, but Camille only stared at Simon distrustfully before giving him a perfunctory nod and seating herself. Simon eyed her in annoyance, and on their way to Amberville to pick up Lauren, he finally said, "Have you no manners, whatever your name is? You might at least have said hello."

"What for?" retorted Camille rudely. "You didn't." Myeko snickered, and Leslie tried not to laugh herself. In a way, having Camille there with her abrasive personality would help her keep her mind on her resolution to treat Simon as the guest he was and not let him have a piece of her mind. But could she possibly get through the whole week like this?

Once they'd reached the stables and mounted their horses, Simon—after muttering in annoyance about the "cowboy" saddle—promptly galloped off into the countryside, along the same route Leslie recalled as having been run by Pomona Prince and Satin Duke in a fantasy a year and a half before. Leslie was frankly relieved to see him go; and when her friends asked her what she was doing with this stranger from Great Britain, she filled them in on the unpleasant surprise Roarke had sprung on her.

"And you don't even get to go home for meals or to sleep in your own bed?" Lauren asked in amazement. "Geez, Leslie, it sounds like summer camp!"

"Yeah, it really does," Leslie agreed, sighing. "I can't imagine what I did that Mr. Roarke wants to punish me like this, but I'm stuck with the guy till a week from tomorrow. Maybe I can go home Saturday night if his mother gets back early enough."

"Paroled for good behavior," Camille offered, and the girls laughed.

"You could say that!" Leslie said, grinning ruefully. "Well, Simon can't forbid me to do anything, so mabe I can set up a slumber party sometime this week. His mother didn't leave any special instructions—she just said to be Simon's guide."

Michiko looked slightly dubious. "That sounds like a pretty loose interpretation of the rules, Leslie. And aren't you worried that Mr. Roarke might find out?"

Leslie glanced at her. "He's the one who sprung this whole thing on me, Michiko. If he does find out, what can he say?"

"Plenty," Lauren said. "But, well, I guess you know better than we do, since you're the one in the situation. Let me know when you decide to have the party, and I'll come. Sounds like fun." She chuckled. "I can bring tapes and stuff."

The girls chatted for another ten minutes or so before Simon hove into view over a hill. His horse had clearly had a good run, and he himself looked a bit disheveled. "Huh, so Mr. Perfect gets messed up," Myeko remarked amiably. "Maybe he's human after all."

The other girls snickered but made no reply, since Simon rode into earshot just then and studied them all. "Greenhorns," he pronounced distastefully.

"Snob," Camille said right back. "If you hate it here so much, why don't you just go home, you blue-blooded aristocratic jerk?"

Lauren hissed a loud "Shhhh!" at her, but Simon just laughed. "Who said I hated it here? I just think you need some riding lessons, that's all." He turned to Leslie, who sat her horse with a carefully maintained poker face. "Riding is fine as far as it goes, but I hope there are other things to do around here, or I'll have to resort to having you sing and dance for me." He snickered. "And God knows we don't want that."

"You could always ask Michiko," Myeko offered. "She can sing, and a lot better than you probably think. But you don't seem capable of asking nicely, so I don't think you deserve to be allowed to hear her."

Simon swept them all with an annoyed look and then focused on Leslie, who by now had compressed her lips as if holding back a tangible rage. "I want to go somewhere else," he said. "What have you got here?"

Leslie stared into space and recited in a flat monotone, "An amusement park, the swimming pool, the beaches, the lagoons, bike rental, Lookout Point, Cabal de Varga, the supper club, the ice rink, the theater and the Saturday-night luau."

"Enough activities for you, or are they too provincial for your refined tastes?" Camille inquired snidely. Simon stared at her and shook his head.

"Do they all come as rude and loudmouthed as you on this island?" he asked, which made Camille actually turn reddish in the cheeks. "I think I'll go to the pool entirely on my own, thank you."

"You'd better wait for the rest of us," Camille yelled after him, goaded by the remark with which he had managed to embarrass her. "Man, if they're all as snobby as you in England, I'm sure glad I haven't got any Brits in my ancestry."

"You do have some very annoying friends, Leslie," Simon said in disgust before wheeling his horse around and cantering back to the stables. Leslie sighed deeply.

"I guess we'd better go back," she said. "Simon says leave, and we leave."

"You'll be playing that game all week if you let him run over you that way," Lauren told her. "You shouldn't let him push you around."

"I have no choice," Leslie said bleakly. "He's our guest and his mother is Mr. Roarke's customer…and you know what they say: the customer is always right."

§ § § -- July 18, 1982

By Sunday evening Simon had managed to exhaust every entertainment facility on the island and was complaining of utter boredom, not to mention how "American" everything looked to him. Leslie, who would have given just about anything in the world to return to the main house and the sanctuary of her own room (_and better company, too,_ she thought in irritation), argued with him for some time, citing the fact that the overwhelming majority of their guests came from the States, before she finally gave up and told him, "I'm going to bed for the night. If you need something, the staff are still available." She fled the room as fast as she could go before he could try to prolong the pointless dispute.

Shortly after she got to her room, the phone rang and she grabbed it. "Hello?"

"Hi, Leslie, it's Myeko. Is El Snobbo hanging around?"

"Thankfully, no," Leslie said through a long sigh, settling on the bed nearby. "As a matter of fact, I just ditched him for the night. We've been to everything on the island except the casino, and he was going to try to get me to take him there too, but I told him we'd be breaking the law if we did. Now he says he's bored and seems to think it's my responsibility to do something about it…which I suppose it is."

"Aw, let him watch TV," Myeko said dismissively. "Listen, I was going to ask you yesterday and I completely forgot, and now it's kind of an emergency. Do you think I can stay over with you in the mansion tonight? We painted my room over the weekend, and I shared Sayuri's room with her last night. Boy, was that a torture test. But I can't sleep in my room on account of the paint fumes, and it's not completely dry yet anyway, so I need someplace to crash for the night. And since you're stuck out there in the Enclave with Simon Says, I figured you could use some friendly company."

Leslie giggled. "You bet I could. Come on over, and bring some tapes if you want."

"Great. See you in a bit," Myeko said. Leslie hung up and settled onto the bed again, poking idly through the oversized duffel she had brought and wondering if there was any chance she could sneak home sometime tomorrow and raid her bookshelves.

When Myeko arrived and Leslie went down to meet her and let her in, she found the main room deserted; Simon must have retreated to his own room, she supposed, which was all the better. The girls detoured to the kitchen, where Leslie talked the chef out of some snacks and soda; then they went up to Leslie's room. Myeko dropped a duffel much like Leslie's and a book bag on the floor, glancing around. "Look at the size of this room," she said in amazement. "It's as big as Sayuri's and mine put together."

"Yeah, it's nice," Leslie said, "but I miss my room at home. It's like Lauren said—I feel like I've been sent to summer camp for a week, without anyone asking me whether I wanted to go. I bet Mr. Roarke's thrilled about the idea of having the house to himself all week."

"Don't get started on that stuff," Myeko said. "Think about it, Leslie. I know Simon's a real pain to deal with, but honestly, who else was he going to get to keep the guy out of trouble? You said Julie's just about ready to open up her house as a bed-and-breakfast inn, and Mr. Roarke and Tattoo are both busy all the time…so that leaves you by default."

"Hey, whose side are you on, anyway?" Leslie asked.

"Yours, silly, who else's? It's just that it sounds like Mr. Roarke was put in a bad spot when his guest had to bring her obnoxious son with her, and that was the best solution he could come up with on short notice. Look, you know we'll hang out with you anytime we can, so just call us if he really gets on your nerves." Myeko settled onto the bed and grinned at her friend. "I brought a bunch of tapes with me, so whaddaya wanna listen to?"

About five hours later the two girls had settled down for the night and eventually dozed off; the entire house was quiet and dark. Out of nowhere, Leslie found herself awake, just enough to be aware but not enough to open her eyes. Her sleepy brain gradually swam to consciousness, in time for her to hear the rustling of clothing. Myeko, who was sleeping soundly on the other side of the king-size bed, didn't stir, and her breathing was slow and even; so she knew it wasn't her friend. Then what was happening?

She lay quietly, straining her ears, aware that whatever was causing the rustling wasn't trying very hard to keep the noise down. As she listened, the sounds drew nearer, and at one point she thought she heard the faintest sound of a footfall on the carpet. _Should I open my eyes and see what this is all about?_ she thought. _Suppose there's an intruder in here? Or is it—_

At that exact moment she felt a hand brush against her for just a moment, and her eyes popped open without further thought. In the very faint light that filtered through the curtains, she realized there was a human silhouette standing over her, and she could just make out one hand holding the key Roarke had given her and the other with two fingers threaded into the handles of a pair of scissors. The owner of the hands was on the verge of closing the blades over the string she had hung the key from.

In a movement so swift and fluid even she was surprised, she reached up and tweaked the key out of the hand that held it. "I don't think so," she murmured with meaning.

"Oh, bloody hell," said Simon Lightwood-Wynton without lowering his voice. Leslie instantly sat up and snapped on the bedside lamp, making both of them squint.

"What do you think you're doing in here?" Leslie demanded, very angry.

She, too, forgot to keep her voice down, and Myeko rolled over and lifted her head, blinking in the light. Then her eyes widened at sight of Simon. "Oh, my God."

"Our friend here was just about to explain why he's visiting us in the middle of the night," Leslie said, glaring at Simon. "Weren't you?"

Simon glared right back. "I told you before, I'm bored. You refuse to come up with any other idea, so I decided to take matters into my own hands. But apparently you're a light sleeper."

"Lucky for me," Leslie agreed dryly. "If you'll recall, Mr. Roarke gave me the key to hold till your mother's fantasy ends. What do you want with it?"

Simon raised his eyebrows at her and shook his head. "As you said a moment ago, 'I don't think so.' That is…unless you're willing to make a deal."

Leslie and Myeko looked at each other. "Something tells me I'm not going to like this deal one little bit," Leslie remarked.

"Probably not," Myeko agreed. "But let's hear it anyway."

"I leave the key alone," Simon said, "and you take me through that chateau that once belonged to old Claude Duncan."

"No deal," Leslie snapped. "That house is off-limits. After Duncan died, Mr. Roarke had to lock it up because people were wandering in and helping themselves to whatever they wanted. Nobody's allowed on the property now. Duncan died without a will, so the question of what happens to the place will be sitting in courthouses for years. In the meantime, no trespassing. So forget it, Simon."

"What on earth do you want in that creepy old place anyway?" Myeko asked. "Do you even have any idea how Duncan died in the first place?"

"Old age, I should think," Simon said, looking annoyed. "What other reason could there be for ancient silent-film stars to die?"

"Not this one," Leslie said. "He'd made a deal with an evil god that as long as he made two sacrifices to him, he'd get to live forever. Mr. Roarke helped foil the plan, and Duncan croaked. Simple as that."

Simon stared at her. "You've gone mad if you think I believe that."

"Don't forget, you're on Fantasy Island," Myeko reminded him. "Anything can happen here, and you can expect just about any weird thing you can dream up."

Simon glanced back and forth between the girls and finally frowned, for once wearing an expression of something besides disdain. "So I suppose that means that, if we should go to the ballroom and stick our heads in the door of that room where we left Mum, we'd find that she wasn't there? And she really is on a trip to nine countries in the past?"

"She certainly is," said Leslie, "but we're not sticking our heads in the door. There's a reason I'm wearing this key around my neck like this, and I don't appreciate you sneaking into my room in the dead of night and trying to steal it from me."

"Fine," Simon barked. "I apologize. But I am, by God, going to see that chateau, and if I must, I'll go to Mr. Roarke. I am a guest and you've been hired to entertain me, so I'm sure he'd agree, since it's what I want."

"You are so full of—" Leslie began, caught herself before she uttered a word she might have regretted saying, and rolled her eyes. "Get out of my room, Simon, and leave us alone."

"G'night," Myeko added, waggling her fingers at him. Simon shook his head, muttered something that sounded like _you upstart colonials_, turned and walked out. He didn't quite slam the door after him, but it did close rather hard.

"Do you believe the nerve of him?" Leslie burst out, incensed. "Where does he get off thinking he can do anything he wants because his mother's Mr. Roarke's customer? I could absolutely strangle the selfish, arrogant…"

"Whoa, whoa," Myeko blurted, holding up her hands. "I agree with you a hundred percent, but unfortunately, murder isn't the answer to the problem. I guess you'll just have to give Mr. Roarke a call and tell him what the situation is."

"I already know what Mr. Roarke'd say," Leslie said. "He'd simply tell me the chateau is closed and no one's allowed on the property, and to come up with some alternative to keep Simon Smart-mouth happy. And that'd be it."

"So what you're saying is, it's up to us," Myeko said.

Leslie nodded. "Exactly. Trouble is, I'm out of options."

"Rent him a boat and send him off to one of the little islets around here," Myeko said, "or get a couple passes from Mr. Roarke and go to Coral Island."

"What good would that be? There's hardly anything on Coral Island," Leslie said, "just the shopping mall and the Air Force base. Which he'd hate, because he's been sneering at everything that seems American to him—which is pretty much everything." She thought it over and then suddenly grinned to herself. "Although renting a boat would be interesting. Maybe Nyah the mermaid princess would pop up in the area and carry him off someplace."

Myeko snickered loudly. "You'd have to get him back from her, of course."

"Yeah, but imagine what would happen when he tried to tell his friends a mermaid almost made off with him. They'd have him committed." The girls giggled at the image; then Leslie subsided and sighed. "But you're right, I'd have to get him back. And I'm sure it wouldn't be very hard—he's as arrogant as Nyah, and she wouldn't want him."

Myeko yawned. "Well, I can't think of anything else, to be honest. Anyway, it's late, and I bet we'll be able to think a lot better in the morning over a nice big breakfast. We should get some sleep."

Leslie slid out of bed. "I think I'd better lock the door, just in case Simon gets any more ideas. Now that I know he's not above sneaking into my room at night, I won't be able to look at him cross-eyed without suspecting him of everything on earth."


	3. Chapter 3

§ § § -- July 19, 1982

The rest of the night passed without incident, and Leslie and Myeko padded downstairs in their nightshifts the following morning for scrambled eggs, bacon, French toast and bowls of oatmeal. They were the only ones at the table. "So what's the plan for today?" Myeko inquired, helping herself to some French toast.

"I don't know," Leslie admitted. "Now that I know Simon's determined to get into the chateau, I'm afraid to leave him to his own devices. I was going to get some books from home, but now I don't dare."

Myeko shrugged. "I don't have to be home at any special time. If you want, I'll stay and babysit the spoiled brat while you get the books you want. And hey, isn't Mr. Roarke gonna let you help him see the guests off on the plane?"

"In view of my current assignment, I'd say not," Leslie said ruefully. "Well, at least let's finish breakfast, and then I'm going to have a shower."

Once in the bathroom, Leslie laid out fresh clothes and then regarded herself in the mirror, staring at Roarke's key. It gleamed under the light and she examined it with some dismay, remembering her promise to Roarke not to lose it. But she couldn't wear it in the shower, so what was she going to do with it? She lifted the string over her head and turned to stare at the door, which curiously had no lock. What kind of house had no lock on the bathroom door? She had nothing she could wedge under the knob.

_Well, he must have __some__ decency,_ she thought hopefully. _Mr. Roarke would probably tell me I ought to give the guy the benefit of the doubt, and he'd have a point. I mean, would he really stoop so low as to sneak into the bathroom while I was in here taking a shower? Just how much of a voyeur is he, after all? It's not like he was trying to see me with no clothes on or something…he just wanted the key Mr. Roarke left with me._ She gave a soft sigh and finally made up her mind. _Oh, all right. I'll just hide the key under the towel here._ She slipped the key and string beneath her towel, making sure both were well out of sight, and then turned on the shower.

When she got out fifteen minutes later, she went right for the towel and plucked it off the counter, expecting to see the key fall to the floor—but nothing happened. Horrified, she stared at the floor for a moment, then shook the towel open and snapped it loudly a couple of times. Still no key. "Oh, terrific," she groaned, worried and furious all at once. "Mr. Roarke's gonna kill me! That twit Simon had to've taken the key after all!"

She dried herself and dressed as fast as she could, then barged out of the bathroom still trying to yank a brush through her wet hair. "Myeko!" she yelled.

Myeko poked her head out the door of Leslie's room. "Something wrong?"

"Big-time," Leslie said. "Simon sneaked into the bathroom while I was in the shower and took the key to the room where we sent his mother into her fantasy!"

"How do you know? Did you see him?" Myeko asked.

"If I'd seen him, I'd have tried to stop him…somehow," Leslie mumbled, aware that she would have been quite incapacitated at that point. "But honestly, who else could have done it? I hid it under the towel before I got in there, and when I came out and picked up the towel, the key was gone. We'd better get down to the ballroom and see if he's done any damage yet."

Both girls rushed to the first floor and the ballroom; Leslie tried the doorknob to the makeshift time-travel room and was relieved when it swung open. She slipped inside with Myeko right behind her and flipped on the lights; all the various items denoting the countries Catherine Lightwood-Wynton was visiting were still there, undisturbed from the last time Leslie had been in here, but there was no sign of Simon.

Leslie counted off on her fingers; it was the third day. The stone Aztec deity held a small placard that bore the number 3 in an upraised hand. "Over here," she said with a deep sigh. "We'll just have to go after him. Turn off the lights, and then come here beside me."

"Ugh, is that thing ever hideous," said Myeko, staring at the stone statue. "What's it supposed to represent?"

"Aztec Mexico," Leslie replied. "Come on, hurry up. We have to go back in time and start hunting for Simon."

Myeko stared at her without moving. "Are you serious?"

"Aren't you practically always the first one to ask about the fantasies every Monday?" Leslie demanded insistently. "It's your big chance to see a part of a fantasy! Myeko, this is urgent! I'm responsible for that idiot, and I've _got_ to go after him."

Myeko glanced at the other things in the room, at the silks hanging from the ceiling, then over at the samurai sword on the wall. "Are you sure his mom isn't in old Japan?"

Leslie threw her hands in the air. "Fine, I'll go by myself. Just turn off the lights and wait outside the door, but _hurry up!!"_

That seemed to galvanize Myeko at last. "Oh no you don't, Leslie Hamilton." She flipped the switch down and joined Leslie next to the stone god. "Now what?"

"Close your eyes, and when I've counted to five, we open them," Leslie said.

The girls closed their eyes and Leslie counted; when they cautiously opened them again, they found themselves standing in an incredibly dense jungle. It looked superficially like Fantasy Island; but the humidity that was blissfully absent on the island was present in spades in this place. Instantly both girls began to perspire in the uncomfortably damp heat. They turned a slow circle and finally spied a faint footpath leading off into the green depths. "I guess we follow that," Leslie said. "Come on."

Fortunately they didn't have to go very far before they emerged into a clearing overwhelmingly dominated by a gargantuan stone pyramid. _Maybe this is Chichén Itzá,_ Leslie thought. _At least we know we're in the right place._ She and a nervous Myeko looked around, but no one seemed to be in sight.

"I have two questions," Myeko finally said. "First, how on earth are we ever supposed to find the pompous jerk without knowing where he started…and second, how the heck do we get back home??"

Leslie's stomach plunged and she winced. She had never thought of that! She took a deep breath and decided the best she could do was blunder along. "Leave that to me. Come on, we have to keep looking."

"I just hope some tribal type doesn't come along and decide we need to be sacrificed to some weird old god," Myeko said apprehensively. "I heard the Aztecs were big on human sacrifice. For all we know, they sacrificed Simon's mom."

"Don't say that," Leslie said. "Mr. Roarke'd never let that happen." _I hope not!_ Then there came a loud shout from somewhere not too far away, and she gasped. "Come on, get behind those bushes over there!"

The girls dove behind some underbrush so thick it was all but opaque, and peered wide-eyed through narrow gaps between leaves at the pyramid. A bare five seconds later about ten Aztecs, all with thick black hair and mahogany skin, charged into the clearing and stopped, looking carefully around them. Leslie and Myeko sat absolutely still, terrified beyond belief of being discovered. Then one man raised his arm and yelled something, and in another minute or so, a procession emerged into the clearing, with two of them carrying none other than Catherine Lightwood-Wynton in a kind of throne they had fashioned of their arms. _Well, they didn't sacrifice Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton,_ Leslie thought, watching the British woman closely. She looked as if she were having a wonderful time; there didn't seem to be a sign of anything other than sheer enjoyment on her face. To Leslie, that was an indicator that she didn't know Simon had gotten himself lost in time; and that meant further that he definitely wasn't in Aztec Mexico.

While the people in the clearing were distracted, Leslie leaned to Myeko with a sudden hopeful idea. "Remember how we counted to five to get here?" she whispered. "If we count backwards, maybe that'll get us home."

"Worth a shot," Myeko murmured. They joined hands, closed their eyes and in tense whispers counted down from five to one. Then Leslie hesitantly peeked through a slitted eye and held her breath.

"We're back, thank God," Myeko blurted, and Leslie opened her eyes fully. To her great relief, her friend was right.

"Amazing," she said, half to herself. "Counting back from five was just a dumb hunch. I didn't really expect it to work, but I'm glad it did." She sighed. "Well, obviously Simon wasn't in Mexico."

"I bet he started out from the beginning," Myeko said. "Over there, where the number 1 is sitting on top of that little pyramid."

"What if he got perverse and started at the end?" Leslie asked. "That would be Viking-era Norway. See the number 9 on top of the longboat model?"

Myeko thought this over. "I guess that's possible. But then again, knowing him, he'd want to go to the most violent era. Which one would that be?"

"All of 'em, if you ask me," Leslie said. "But if I had to narrow it down, it'd be either the Viking days, or Japan in its samurai heyday. Great big swords, you know."

They looked at each other for a long moment. "Do you really want to go looking for him in those places? Nobody speaks English, and even if we find the guy, how on earth can we possibly make him come back?" Myeko asked.

Leslie heaved a great sigh. "I don't think we have any choice. All I know is, at least one of us would fit in no matter which choice we made. I could probably pass myself off as a Norwegian Viking's kid, and you'd certainly pass for a samurai's daughter."

Myeko suddenly lit up. "What if you went to Norway and I went to Japan?"

Leslie stared doubtfully at her, but considered the idea, and decided she liked it better the more she thought about it. "I guess that'd work," she said slowly. "Don't forget how to get back, though."

"Close my eyes and count back from five. No problem," Myeko said cheerfully. "See you back here whenever. First one to find the idiot wins."

"Wins what, the rest of the week babysitting him?" Leslie said sourly. "If it were up to me, I'd just leave him there. But it's not, so here goes nothing." She and Myeko got up and went to their separate spots—Leslie beside the Viking ship and Myeko under the wall-mounted sword and Japanese prints.

Leslie shut her eyes and counted to five in a soft whisper, and opened them again to find herself standing in what was clearly a majestic Norwegian fjord. The cliffs on either side of her seemed to rise into infinity. Some little distance away was a surprisingly good-sized village; there was quite a collection of small, crude boats bobbing in the water, along with two magnificent longships. _This must be the place,_ Leslie told herself. It didn't look as if there were any fights going on; as a matter of fact, things appeared to be quite peaceful.

"Who are you and what are you doing here?" a voice demanded from behind her, startling her so badly that she let out a shriek before whipping around. She found herself standing face to face with a surprisingly handsome boy who looked to be fairly close to her own age, and smiled a greeting without really thinking. He eyed her stonily.

"Um." Leslie cleared her throat and decided a varnished version of the truth was the best bet. "I'm looking for someone." She described Simon in some detail to the Viking boy. "Have you seen anyone who looks like that?"

"No," came the curt response. "Do you come here from the next village?"

"I…come from Sweden, actually," Leslie said with sudden inspiration, taking advantage of her partial Swedish ancestry. "I'm traveling with my companion, but he got lost, and I need to find him before we continue on our journey."

"I see," said the young Viking. "I apologize, but there is no one like that here."

"Not even someone who makes a lot of demands and tries to order everyone around?" Leslie hazarded hopefully. The Viking raised an eyebrow and almost smiled, but again shook his head.

"No, my lady, not even someone like that. I wish you luck in locating him, however. Good day and good journey." He nodded at her and strode away toward the village.

Leslie sighed, suddenly weary of the whole conundrum, and decided she was better off back on Fantasy Island where she could think about the problem. She closed her eyes and counted backwards, and shortly was back beside the longship model. Myeko had not yet returned from samurai Japan, so she had a few minutes to mull over Simon's disappearing act and his likeliest whereabouts. As she stood there trying to figure out which era out of all those represented here would most appeal to Simon, she suddenly realized she'd been speaking in English to that Viking boy, and he to her. How was that possible? _Something else for me to ask Mr. Roarke,_ she thought. _That is, once I get that dimwit Simon back here, which could take practically forever. And please, oh please, don't let me have to break down and ask Mr. Roarke for help, because he'd be so incredibly upset with me…_ She rested her head in her hands and tried to think.

And then an idea occurred to her and she started to smile. She was giggling by the time Myeko popped back into the room, looking a bit windblown but exhilarated. "Wow, that was really something! Hey, what're you laughing at?"

"I think I know where to find Simon," Leslie said. "Come on over to this one here, and we'll go see if I'm right."

"You're kidding, aren't you?" Myeko demanded. "How do you figure he's there?"

"Wait till we get there, and if we do find him there, he's likely to ask how I figured out where he was. I'll explain it then. Ready?" The girls linked hands and counted to five in unison, then opened their eyes and found themselves in the middle of a featureless prairie. The only sound was the breeze waving the grasses. Leslie took a deep breath and detected the smell of smoke. "Come on."

The girls followed their noses and shortly came upon a fairly large collection of conical tents with all manner of abstract designs painted on them. At the edge of the camp stood a crude sort of cage, big enough to fit a human, painstakingly constructed from sapling trunks and a few large branches. Standing inside it was Simon Lightwood-Wynton.

"You were right!" Myeko whispered. "I can't wait to hear how you figured this out."

"I can't believe there's no one guarding him," Leslie murmured, scanning the camp. "In fact, he's the only human I can see at all, other than you. Let's give him the surprise of his life, what say?" She grinned and Myeko snickered, nodding.

Bold as brass, the two girls made their way out of the grass into full view. The sounds of their footsteps alerted Simon, who turned and gaped at them in disbelief. "Bloody hell!" he finally exploded.

"Good morning to you too," Leslie said sweetly. "Hand over the key right now."

Simon eyed her. "Why should I?"

She smirked at him. "Because you want us to let you out of there before anyone comes back from wherever they went, that's why. And also because you don't know how to get home again, now that you've gone and taken a little trip of your own without even thinking about the predicaments you could get into."

Simon's face grew redder and redder as she spoke; when she finished, he expelled at least half a dozen potent curse words, most of them uniquely British. "All right, damn you, all right, here's your bloody key." He dug it out of his pocket and thrust it at her, and she grabbed it out of his hand. "Now get me out of here."

Leslie and Myeko stood and studied him for a long moment. Finally Leslie asked, "Myeko, can you think of a really good reason we should do that?"

Myeko, playing along, shrugged. "Not off the top of my head, no. But maybe if he tells us how he got locked up in his little treehouse there, and apologizes for stealing the key, and agrees to be nice and play by the rules for the rest of the week…"

"Oh, do shut up," Simon growled. "You bloody Americans, you all think you're so wonderful and so brilliant. The lot of you are simply unbearable."

"That," Leslie told Myeko, "is how I figured out where Simon was. He thinks Fantasy Island is some sort of American possession or something, I suppose."

Myeko broke in with indignation, addressing Simon. "For your information, Simon Says, Fantasy Island isn't American soil, and we aren't citizens of the U.S. It's sovereign in and of itself, and Mr. Roarke is the final authority as owner and island lord mayor. For someone who thinks Americans are so stupid, you should give some thought to just how ignorant _you_ are." She turned back to Leslie. "So…he hates Americans and had the peculiar idea that we're American soil. Go on."

"Well, he knew we had to come after him once I found out the key was gone, and he also knew we'd have a hard time finding him. Naturally, you and I started out trying to think of the most likely place he'd be. But when we didn't find him with his mother, or in the two most violent societies we could come up with, I started thinking about it and got the idea that maybe we were looking in the wrong direction. I figured it was possible he'd try some reverse psychology on us, and thought about the _least_ likely place he'd be. After that it was easy. As much as he seems to hate Americans, I knew right off the bat that the last place he'd want to be was in an American Indian village, and he thought he'd throw us off the trail by coming to this very place. Except somehow, he got jailed."

Simon stared at her and shook his head. "I hate to admit it, but you're brilliant. You're right. I came in on the damned Indians in the middle of some tribal ceremony. Someone sounded the alarm, and here I am. They've all gone off hunting—probably moose or something equally unpalatable. I don't know when they're to return, but I certainly don't want to be here when they do."

Leslie shrugged her shoulders, looping the string back around her neck. "It would serve you right if Myeko and I went back home and just left you here. You deserve it, after all. But eventually your mother'll be visiting this society, and if she finds you here I imagine there'd be quite a stink." She sighed with mock regret. "So I suppose we have to let you out of there, like it or not."

"Better hurry," Myeko advised, staring towards the horizon with a newly worried look on her face. "I think I can hear horses' hooves in the distance."

"Oh, great," Leslie muttered. She examined the leather binding that held Simon's cage together and finally shrugged. "Don't suppose you carry a penknife."

"Damn it," Simon said with precise enunciation. "There's actually a door on this thing, you ignorant Yank. Look."

Leslie abruptly saw red. "That's it," she snapped. "You're staying. Come on, Myeko, I've had enough of this snob and his lofty opinion of himself. Let's go home."

"Leslie, you can't just leave him here," Myeko protested.

"Why not?" she demanded. "We can always come back here and let him out before his mother gets around to this part of her fantasy, but that's not for four more days yet. I think it'd do him a world of good to stay locked up in there awhile—maybe he'd actually learn a few manners, if not how to become a generally civilized and polite human being."

Faintly on the wind they could hear whoops and shouts, and Myeko gasped. "We're running out of time. Let him out, Leslie, and let's get out of here before we wind up sharing his cage with him."

"Don't worry about that," Leslie said. "We know how to get home anytime, remember? Simon's the only one who has any reason to panic."

"You have all the cards, for God's sake," Simon shouted desperately. "You have the stupid key back, and you know how to get back to Fantasy Island, whilst I don't." His face was red and his eyes huge with actual fear. "Damn it all, I apologize. I'm sorry for the things I said and did. But get me out of this thing!"

Leslie glanced at Myeko, at Simon, and sighed as if in disappointment. "Oh, all right," she mumbled. "Myeko, give me your hand." Myeko took Leslie's left hand, and she stretched out her right hand toward Simon. "Take my hand, Simon."

"This is no time for meditation," Simon cried in disbelief.

"Shut up, you moron," Myeko yelled impatiently at him. "Hurry, Leslie, hurry!"

Leslie clutched Myeko's and Simon's hands. "Close your eyes, and don't argue with me, you arrogant Brit. Just do it!" She waited just long enough to see that he had done so, then closed her own eyes and counted back from five.

"Oh…thank God," she heard Simon groan fervently, and opened her eyes to find all three of them back in the lavishly decorated little room. She gave a little sigh of relief herself and released Simon's and Myeko's hands, wrapping one of hers around the key as if afraid Simon might try to grab it again. But he made right for the door; plainly, he'd had enough of this room and wanted to be quit of it then and there. Leslie and Myeko grinned tiredly at each other and exchanged a rather limp high-five before climbing to their feet and leaving the room, whose door Leslie took care to lock behind her.


	4. Chapter 4

§ § § -- July 20, 1982

But if Leslie thought that was the end of her trouble with Simon, she was badly mistaken. Simon seemed quite subdued for the rest of Monday, but on Tuesday he was back to his demanding self. He insisted that Leslie make arrangements to have the amusement park closed to visitors so that he could have it entirely to himself for a day. She tried every argument she could think of to dissuade him, including the fact that it would take time to set up and execute, and also that was likely to have to pay handsomely for the privilege. But nothing would sway him from the idea, and she finally decided the only thing she could do was call her guardian and present the problem to him.

So with Simon standing by, watching with his arms folded over his chest and an expectant smirk on his face, she dialed the main house and waited for Roarke to pick up, her eyes trained wearily on the ceiling. "Yes," she finally heard the warm, familiar voice.

"Hi, Mr. Roarke, it's me," Leslie said.

"Good afternoon, Leslie," Roarke replied. "How are things going with your charge?"

"About the way I expected they would," she told him darkly and sighed. "I have a nice little problem for you. Simon wants me to have the amusement park closed to the public so that he can enjoy it all by himself, at his own leisure, for a full day. I tried to tell him it's not possible, in every way I could think of, but he won't listen. He's standing right here waiting for me to tell him we're doing it, and I think he fully expects that we will."

For a long moment Roarke was silent on the other end, and she waited, suddenly wondering uneasily if he was actually going to tell her to go ahead and do it. Then she heard a sigh from him. "I begin to see the extent of the problems his mother has had with him," he remarked. "What happened after you went to the stables on Saturday?"

Leslie told him about their horseback ride and the whirlwind way Simon had insisted on seeing every attraction the island had to offer before the weekend was out. She glared at Simon throughout most of this, watching him tapping his foot with impatience or rolling his eyes, and finally concluded, "I don't know how else to keep him from complaining."

"You say he wanted to go to the casino?" Roarke asked incredulously. At Leslie's affirmative reply, he sighed again. "All right, Leslie, put Simon on the line, and I will try to explain to him. I'll also gently suggest he rent a boat for at least the day, to keep him from bothering you to do something perhaps even more outrageous."

"Okay," she said and held out the receiver to Simon. "You won't listen to me, so maybe you'll get the picture if Mr. Roarke explains things to you."

"Right," Simon said with a smirk and took the receiver from her. She shook her head and turned away, wishing she had asked Roarke if she could come home while Simon was out on the boat. Maybe he'd talk the arrogant snob into an overnight rental…

The conversation grew rather protracted and Simon more petulant as it dragged out; but at last Roarke apparently convinced him that closing down the amusement park solely for Simon was impractical at best. He did seem amenable to the idea of the boat rental, however, and to Leslie's complete surprise asked about overnight excursions to uninhabited islands. That kept him on the line for another ten minutes, and when he finally relinquished the phone back to Leslie, he actually walked off whistling.

"Wow, Mr. Roarke, you're a miracle worker," she commented, astounded.

Roarke chuckled a bit wearily. "I understand your reluctance to remain with him," he admitted. "I'm surprised he hasn't given you more trouble than that."

"Oh, well…" Leslie cleared her throat; there was no way on earth she was going to tell Roarke about hers and Myeko's mad dash through time in pursuit of Simon. "Since Simon seems to have plans to take an extended boat tour, could I come home for tonight?"

"Very well," Roarke agreed. "I'll need your assistance with some catch-up work at any rate. Julie has announced that the upcoming weekend will be her last in my employ, as she finally has the capital and the supplies to open her bed-and-breakfast enterprise and has been spending more of her time shopping and hiring help than running errands for me."

"Don't mind a bit," Leslie said. "I'll be on my way home as soon as Simon leaves."

It was half an hour before Simon was ready to go; he had two large overloaded suitcases with him when the chauffeur brought the Mercedes around. Leslie had repacked her bag and left her borrowed room as pristine as when she'd first arrived, and just for good measure had hidden Roarke's key inside her shirt. "Well," she said to Simon, "I hope you have a good time."

"Of course I will," Simon said, staring down his nose at her. "You won't be with me, and that's enough to make me enjoy anything."

"Jerk," Leslie muttered and stepped out the door. Both were stonily silent all the way to the marina, where Leslie waited long enough to be sure Simon was not only put aboard a boat but actually well and truly out to sea before returning to the car and requesting to be taken to the main house. She could hardly wait to sleep in her own bed.

Roarke kept Leslie busy scheduling fantasies through the end of the year and had her run several errands; at supper with him, Tattoo and Julie, she got the full update on Julie's brand-new business and wished her luck. And she slept quite soundly in her own room that night, waking refreshed and cheerful the next morning.

"You'll have to return to the Enclave immediately after lunch," Roarke told her about an hour after breakfast, when she walked into the study with the day's mail and a hatbox-sized package that she had just picked up for him at the island post office. "I have just had a telephone call from the marina, and it seems that Simon has decided to cut short his little excursion by several hours." She winced, and he smiled ruefully. "I'm sorry, child."

"It's only Wednesday," she protested. "What am I supposed to do with him for the next four days? His mother isn't due back till Sunday night!"

"I know, Leslie, I know," Roarke said. "But as I recall, Mrs. Lightwood-Wynton did suggest you introduce your friends to him. Has he met any of them yet?"

"He did on Saturday when we went riding," Leslie told him. "Myeko and Camille and Lauren and Michiko were able to come with us. Unfortunately, he was as rude to them as he's been to me, and you can probably imagine Camille's reaction in particular."

Roarke loosed a mirthless chuckle and nodded. "Indeed," was all he would say. "Well, you don't have to leave here immediately, of course, so why don't you give me that package and go through the mail for me."

Leslie put the package on the desk in front of him and settled into her usual chair at one side, knocking the letters into a tidy stack and setting the pile on the desk just beside her before pulling the top one off and slicing the envelope open. "I just hope he doesn't ask me to take him to the casino again," she said.

Roarke chuckled. "Of course, the forbidden undoubtedly holds a special attraction for him, so you'll have to be on your guard."

§ § § -- July 22, 1982

She remembered those words on Thursday evening when she finally held the slumber party she had mentioned to her friends. All six were able to attend, and they deliberately set up camp in the ballroom where Catherine Lightwood-Wynton's special time-travel portal had been constructed, even though Leslie was reasonably certain Simon had been turned off so thoroughly by his experience on Monday that he wasn't likely to try again. "But it never hurts to be safe," she remarked when she explained to her friends why they were in the ballroom. Two of the maids had wheeled in a television set with a VCR and plenty of movies on tape, and they had also left behind a table filled with chips and dip, meatballs in marinara sauce which they could pile into small sandwich buns, pizza, soda, brownies and cookies.

"Yeah, probably not," Myeko agreed, scooping some dip onto a paper plate and loading up with chips. "What trouble's he been causing lately?"

"Not much actually," Leslie said. "He was on an overnight boat trip to one of those little unpopulated islands Tuesday and yesterday, so I actually got to sleep in my own room on Tuesday night. Of course, now that he's back, who knows what'll happen."

"Especially after Monday," Myeko agreed.

"What happened on Monday?" Lauren wanted to know, and that meant Myeko and Leslie had to regale the other girls with their time-travel adventures that day. They had quite a mixed bag of reactions; Frida looked horrified, while Camille looked envious.

"Geez," she complained. "I'm never in the right place at the right time for these things. That would've been so cool!"

"Scary, though," Michiko observed. "Especially considering where you went."

"I wouldn't mind seeing ancient Australia myself," Maureen admitted. "Too bad you didn't try that one. You can't tell me you didn't have some fun after all."

"Well, going back to samurai-warrior Japan _was_ pretty neat," Myeko said, grinning. "Even though I don't speak a word of Japanese, it didn't matter really. It was like everybody spoke English and understood me when I spoke it to them."

"Impossible," Lauren scoffed. "How can that be? Nobody in any of those societies spoke English. Leslie, what gives?"

Leslie flipped her hands palm-up in the air. "Don't ask me," she said. "I wondered the same thing, and all I can do is ask Mr. Roarke. And I didn't think to do that when I was home Tuesday and yesterday." She sighed. "I was more worried about what new stunt Simon was gonna pull. To be honest, he hasn't really done anything at all since we came back here. He spent all yesterday afternoon in his room for some reason, and then he slept till past noon today. When he finally deigned to make an appearance, he said he needed to make a trip to town, and he disappeared with the chauffeur till just before suppertime. And now he's in his room again. I think he's up to something."

"Sounds suspicious to me all right," Myeko agreed.

"Perhaps he is only tired," Frida offered, though it was clear she doubted her own words, from the look on her face.

"How could he be tired?" Camille demanded, scowling at her. "Are you deaf or something? Leslie just said he slept till after lunchtime."

"Recharging his batteries, I'm sure," Michiko said with a little laugh. "I'm almost sorry we don't get to see him. I'd like to see firsthand just how bad he really is."

At that precise moment one of the young Polynesian maids hurried into the room. "Miss Leslie," she said urgently, "there's a problem. Master Simon isn't in his room."

Leslie looked up. "I guess he's finally out of hibernation," she said, and her friends laughed; but the maid merely shook her head.

"No, that's not all. We've checked all the rooms. He isn't in the house at all."

"I suppose he didn't bother to tell anyone where he was going," Leslie said heavily. Again the maid shook her head, and Leslie sighed. "He could've gone for a late-night swim or maybe off to the beach. I don't know. I'm just sick of being responsible for him."

"Out of sight, out of mind," Camille said dismissively, biting into a slice of pizza. "Let him do his thing. At least he's leaving us alone."

"I still say something isn't right," the maid insisted uneasily. "This is why." She came to Leslie and handed her a slip of paper. Leslie unfolded it and realized it was a receipt from a shop in town. Scanning it, she frowned in bewilderment.

"Why would he need mountain-climbing equipment?" she asked.

Her friends looked at one another, and Lauren grinned. "Scaling Tutumoa to watch the moon rise, maybe?" she kidded.

"Or climbing walls to stare into people's windows," Myeko offered. "After the way he sneaked into Leslie's room in the middle of the night, and then stole the key while she was in the shower, I wouldn't put it past him to be a peeping Tom."

_Climbing walls,_ Leslie thought, and her mind skipped a track or two, for some reason picturing the tall thick walls surrounding the deserted Duncan estate. And the moment she did, she remembered Simon's fascination with the place. She stared at Myeko. "Remember that deal he tried to make with me the night he was going to steal the key?"

Myeko thought it over and then looked at Leslie with wide eyes. "You mean…the chateau? Oh my God…I bet you're right."

"What chateau?" Maureen asked.

"The one Claude Duncan owned," Leslie said. "When we first came up here, he saw the lane leading to it and wanted to know where it went. Mr. Roarke told him, and he seemed a little too interested in it. Then, the night he came into my room when Myeko was sleeping over, he tried to make a deal with me—that he'd forget about the key Mr. Roarke gave me if I'd take him through the chateau."

"But no one has permission to go in there," Frida protested. "Why does he want to go to that place? It would be frightening to me."

"He's just fixated on it for some reason," Leslie said, shrugging. "I kept telling him no, but he never did listen to anything I said. He's a spoiled rich kid who always has to have his own way no matter what the rules are. And I think he's found a way to get his way again. I don't think I have any choice except to go after him."

"You can't go alone," Michiko protested immediately. "We'll all go with you."

"Yeah," Camille promptly seconded. "There're seven of us and only one of him, so if we do find him in there, we'll knock him cold and carry him out if we have to."

Leslie grinned. "You guys are great," she said. "Well, let's see what we can do. I know we'll have to drive up there, because the chateau is isolated. Mr. Roarke set it up that way on purpose when Claude Duncan came to live here. That lane's almost two miles long. If Simon walked there, he had a serious hike."

"I'm sure that wouldn't have been enough to stop him," Myeko said. "Are we gonna have to walk it too, or do you think we can get hold of a car?"

Leslie shrugged. "We'd be better off in a car, that's for sure." She turned to the maid. "Do me a favor, please, and ask Albert to bring the car around front. It's too far to walk and there are too many of us, so we're better off with transportation."

"Right away, Miss Leslie," the maid said and scurried out of the room.

"What next?" asked Lauren.

Leslie thought about it for a moment. "Well, I don't know how we're going to get inside the chateau, not offhand at least. There's only one gate that goes inside the grounds, and there's a big padlock on it. To the best of my knowledge, Mr. Roarke has the only key to it. And I'm not going to try to sneak into his desk to get it."

"Then what do we do?" Maureen wanted to know. "I'm not sure I'm in shape to go rappelling over the walls the way Simon apparently did."

"We could always climb a tree," Michiko offered suddenly. "Aren't there trees near the retaining walls, Leslie?"

"Not out front," Leslie murmured, trying to remember what she had seen the one time she'd accompanied Roarke to the chateau. "But we can always check the side walls. Well, come on, let's get to the car and get there first, and see what we're up against."


	5. Chapter 5

§ § § -- July 22, 1982

About ten minutes later the Mercedes was idling quietly in the circular drive in front of the Duncan chateau, which was already showing clear evidence of its abandonment. Stucco was flaking off the outside of the walls that surrounded it, and the iron gate was rusting in spots. The light from the car headlights picked out these imperfections fairly easily, though Leslie was sure there were plenty of other signs that the darkness hid. She glanced around at her friends and shrugged. "Showtime, I guess."

The seven girls piled out of the car and moved in an uneasy group toward the gate; at the same time, Albert, the chauffeur, popped out the front. "Miss Leslie," he called, "are you sure it's going to be safe? Perhaps I'd better come with you."

"Someone really ought to stay with the car, in case Simon comes around when we're all someplace else and tries to make off with it and strand us here," Leslie reasoned. "I think we'll be okay. There's enough of us that even if someone does get hurt, one of the others can go for help. I'd feel better knowing you're with the car."

"Very well, Miss Leslie," Albert agreed reluctantly and slid back inside the vehicle. The girls turned to stare at the walls, the gate, and the chateau within.

After a moment Camille went to examine the large rust spots that were eating at the iron bars of the entry gate. "Hmm. Think this might've gone through anything?" She began shaking bars experimentally.

"Not unless the padlock's rusted," Lauren said. "What about the trees?"

The penumbral glow from the headlights reflected faintly off glossy leaves, and Leslie pointed. "Over there, to the right. See them over that portico above the fountain? Come on, let's go." They trotted along the wall and around the corner, shutting them off completely from the lights and making them stop long enough to let their eyes adjust to what little light the stars gave off in the moonless night. In a minute or so they spied several tall trees growing along the wall in front of them and began to examine them for convenient branches that would allow climbing. Fortunately, the second tree proved to be perfect for their intentions, and they gathered around its base, staring up.

"Who's the best tree climber here?" asked Leslie. No one spoke, and she realized all of a sudden that she herself might be the best candidate. She could still remember sheltering in the tree in their Susanville front yard the night Michael Hamilton had set that fatal fire. "I guess that's me," she mumbled and sighed. "Myeko, boost me up?"

"I'll come up after you," Camille volunteered unexpectedly.

"Me too," Myeko said. "I used to climb a lot of trees…up till fourth grade at least, when I fell out of one and broke my arm."

"Wow, you're walking wounded," Maureen commented with a laugh. "First you take a header off a balance beam, then you break your arm falling out of a tree. Are you really sure you want to climb up there with Camille and Leslie?"

The girls laughed softly and Myeko giggled sheepishly. "Well, you might have a point there. But I think at least one more person besides Leslie and Camille should go—maybe two." She sighed. "I can be a sentinel at least. Geez, Maureen, your memory's too good. I told you guys that story about the balance beam a year and a half ago."

Maureen snickered. "Tell you what, why don't I go. You can wait here with Michiko and Lauren and Frida."

"I don't think so," Lauren said. "I'm going too. The three of you can stay."

Leslie grinned. "Four of us ought to be enough to cut Simon down to size. Frida, you and Michiko should take up a spot by the gate, in case Simon shows up there. Myeko, if you're not afraid of the dark, you could wait here by this tree so you can help us back down out of it whenever we come back, hopefully with Simon."

"No problem," said Myeko. "If I need help, I'll go get Michiko and Frida from the date. You ready?" She boosted Leslie to the first branch, and Leslie pulled herself onto it and into position to grab the second one, glad she'd worn jeans and a T-shirt. The third branch, a thick sturdy one, hung conveniently out over the wall just a few inches above the top, and she was standing atop the wall within a few minutes.

"I'm coming," Camille warned, and Leslie glanced down to see her being boosted onto the first branch. She turned and scanned the ground within the chateau; the wall was some eight feet high, and she didn't relish the drop down. And how were they going to get back up again? She scowled and thought for a moment, then had an idea.

"Before everybody gets up here," she called softly, crouching on the wall top, "could one of you go and ask Albert if there happens to be any rope in the trunk? We'll need some to get back over the wall, if Simon's rappelling equipment isn't hanging off this thing in some other area."

"I'll go," said Michiko and hurried off. Camille dropped to the top of the wall beside Leslie and peered down.

"I see what you mean," she said. "Cripes, no rocks or anything, huh? This is gonna be some rescue mission."

"I feel like a thief," Leslie admitted with a nervous sigh. "I've never been in there, but from the size of it, it's got enough rooms that we could take all night trying to find Simon. I wish I could figure out what his obsession is with this place."

"Probably looking for something Claude Duncan owned so he can filch it and try to sell it for big bucks somewhere," Camille offered.

"Or big quid, as the case may be," Leslie said with a sour little smile. "I can't say I'd put it past him, since he stole that key. How much of a chance do you think we have of breaking something when we drop off this wall?"

"Oh, at least fifty percent," said Camille and grinned. "Here comes Lauren."

Michiko returned with a coil of rope soon thereafter, just as Maureen finished climbing and stepped off onto the wall behind Lauren. "Can you reach this?" she asked.

Leslie laid out flat on the wall top and stretched her arm as far as she could, and Michiko managed to hand her the rope. Working together, Maureen and Leslie tied one end of the rope in as huge and complicated a knot as they could dream up to the tree branch, then let the rest fall to the ground inside the wall. Camille lowered herself to a seated position on the wall top, took a breath and grunted, "Geronimo." With that, she launched herself off the wall, landing in a heap some distance away and rolling with her momentum.

"You okay?" Lauren called down.

"Yup, the grass is nice and soft," Camille said. "Come on down."

One by one, each girl dropped to the grass, and all made it unhurt. From there it was a quick walk to the large double doors of the chateau, which to their surprise stood open to the night air. They looked at one another and shrugged, in almost exact unison, walking into the dark interior.

"Look for a light somewhere," Leslie whispered to Maureen, Lauren and Camille. "I can't imagine he'd come here without one, and since we don't have one, we might be able to sneak up on him."

"If we find him," Lauren agreed. "Okay, let's go."

The four girls prowled through about five rooms on the ground floor before stealing up the wide staircase near the entrance and peering carefully into several second-floor doorways. Then Leslie, in the lead, stopped and pointed down the hall, where they could see a faint glow spilling through an open door. The others nodded, and they crept noiselessly along till they were just short of the door in question. Carefully, Leslie eased her head around the jamb till she could see inside.

_Well, well, well,_ she thought, _so it looks like old Simon Says found something he liked after all._ Simon crouched in the light from a powerful flashlight that stood on its end beside him, rummaging around in a large box. A dozen or so other such boxes surrounded him, some open and some still taped shut. She withdrew her head and nodded at her friends, and with that they all stepped into the room together.

"Surprise," said Leslie.

"YAAAAAGGGGHHH!!" howled Simon, whipping around in utter shock and knocking the flashlight over. "What the bloody hell is it with you? Do you have some damned ESP or something, that you always manage to trace me?"

"Maybe if you stayed out of trouble, there wouldn't be any problem," Leslie snapped, grabbing the flashlight and training it into the box Simon had been poking around in. "Just what's your thing about this place? You've been bugging me nearly all week about coming here, and now here you are looking for something to steal, from the looks of it."

"It's not stealing at all," Simon barked back, incensed. "The damned thing legitimately belongs to my family, and I know it's in this chateau."

"What thing?" Leslie demanded.

Simon shook his head. "Why should I tell you? It's nothing to do with you."

"It's plenty to do with me," Leslie contradicted him. "I have six friends and Albert with me, just so you know. I can easily send one or two of them to get Mr. Roarke, or the police, or both, and then you'd have to talk. So you might as well save yourself the extra effort and spill the beans now."

Simon growled and said grudgingly, "Fine, then, just shine that torch into the box so I can carry on looking. We have a history of associating with famous people. I'm distantly related to Jillian Kristen, one of the singers in the group Swedenstar."

"Who?" said Camille blankly. Her tastes ran to hard rock, Leslie recalled.

"I've heard of them," Leslie said, and Maureen and Lauren both nodded recognition. "So you're related to one of them. So what?"

"I'm also the great-grandson of Niles Cameron, the silent-film director," Simon said. "And he directed several films that starred Claude Duncan and Becky Lee. They were great friends, you see. My great-grandfather gave Claude Duncan a priceless treasure to keep safe during World War I, and he has had it ever since. It's time we got it back, and that's why I'm here—I'm looking for it so I can take it home when we leave."

"Why didn't you just tell Mr. Roarke?" Leslie demanded. "He could've made all the necessary arrangements to let you in here and see that you were able to find this…this thing, whatever it is. Instead you had to come sneaking in here in the dead of night and risk getting nabbed for trespassing."

"Well, that's water under the proverbial bridge, isn't it?" Simon retorted. "Mr. Roarke would have demanded proof that it belonged to us, and it would have taken the entire week to get the proper permissions, and by then it would have been too late. This way I have a chance of finding it. Or I did until you busybody girls showed up here. You've been a thorn in my side the entire week, Leslie Hamilton, and I have no doubt that another day with you under the same roof as I, and I shall assuredly go utterly mad."

"The feeling's mutual," Leslie informed him, driven beyond her endurance point. "All week long I've had to try to entertain you, put up with your ridiculous spoiled-brat demands, find some way to get you out of trouble before someone with authority discovered what you were up to, and deal with you stealing things that belong to other people. You think you can lord it over me because you're older than I am and richer than King Midas, but let me tell you something, buster. I'm sick of you and I'm sick of your attitude, and fed up to here with your insults and your sneering. There's no question in my mind, you're the worst guest I've ever seen since I came to live here. I can't wait till you're gone, you know that? I'll be overjoyed to see the last of you, Simon Cameron Lightwood-Wynton the fourth, alleged great-grandson of Niles Cameron and alleged distant relation to what's-her-name in that singing group. I hope to God that when you leave, I never see you or your smirking face again for the rest of my life and even beyond that!"

"Bravo, Leslie!" Camille cheered, and she, Maureen and Lauren applauded loudly. "It's about time you told off this arrogant schmuck."

"We could always leave right now," Lauren suggested brightly, "and get hold of Mr. Roarke and leave the jerk to what he's got coming."

"Fine," Simon roared. "Do it if you must, but you'll not do it before I've found what I came here for. I knew Claude Duncan had been living on this island for years, and all I needed to know was where his house was. That's the real reason I wanted to come here with Mum. She didn't even know about it, and none of the family seemed to care overmuch. If our property is to come home, then I'm the one who must retrieve it—and you're not going to stop me, Leslie, you or any of your rude and loudmouthed friends."

"We treat others the way they treat us," Maureen informed him. "Since you're acting so high-and-mighty, we see no reason to be polite to you."

"Get your stupid artifact, then, and hurry up," Leslie shouted at him. "I'm done dealing with your bullheadedness." Simon glared at her, and she lunged at him, overcome with a fresh surge of fury. _"Get going!!"_

Simon reared back, a startled look on his face, and began digging hastily through the box. Lauren and Camille looked at each other in surprise; Maureen grinned. Leslie stood by, shining the flashlight into the box, tapping her foot impatiently.

Finally Simon came up with a round, flat gray metal canister. "Here it is," he said, holding it up so that the light shone on it. "The only known surviving print of my great-grandfather's first film, _Eternal Paradise_. The first film ever to feature Claude Duncan and Becky Lee in co-starring roles. It belongs to us, and it's coming home with me."

"Says you," Leslie muttered, disgusted. "How you know that is beyond me, but if you don't get your arrogant butt up off the floor and come with us right now, I'm going to tell Mr. Roarke everything. Every last word."

"Oh, do be quiet," Simon said in annoyance and rose to his feet, sliding the canister into a backpack he wore. "Very well, then, let's be off."

"All this trouble for a stupid movie," Camille complained. "So help me God, if anybody finds out what happened tonight, I'm going to put all the blame on you, you overblown aristocrat. Let's get out of this creepy place."

A little less than fifteen minutes later they were on the way back to the Lightwood-Wynton mansion and Albert was speaking in relief. "You put an awful scare into us all, Master Simon. What were you thinking?"

"Did you really use mountain-climbing equipment to get over that wall?" Myeko wanted to know.

"How did you know that?" Simon demanded.

"One of the maids found a little shop receipt you left behind," Leslie said.

Simon sighed deeply. "This place is utter bad luck," he declared. "Yes, for God's sake, I did exactly that. I broke the lock on the front door and let myself in as well, as long as we're making confessions. But I've got what I wanted, and that's enough."

"So you're going to stay out of trouble from now on?" Leslie hinted meaningfully;

Simon threw his hands in the air without actually replying, and the girls grinned at one another, as much from relief as anything else. They were all looking forward to a good night's sleep.

§ § § -- July 26, 1982

On Monday morning, Catherine Lightwood-Wynton looked refreshed and happy, and Simon had an odd, self-satisfied air about him. "I'm so glad Simon enjoyed himself here this week," she said. "It's a lovely island, Mr. Roarke, and I had a splendid time with my fantasy. Perhaps we won't sell the house after all, and we'll spend a month here each winter. Wouldn't that be grand, Simon dear? I shall certainly apprise you of whatever decision we do make, Mr. Roarke."

"Of course," Roarke agreed, smiling. "I am very pleased that you found your stay and your fantasy so enjoyable. You are welcome back anytime." Leslie bit her lip and held her tongue to keep from voicing her opinion of Catherine's idea, and it wasn't till after Simon and Catherine had disappeared aboard the charter that Roarke finally turned to her.

"You're unusually quiet this morning, Leslie," he said. "Did your week with young Simon turn out all right?"

"Oh sure, Mr. Roarke," Leslie said. "Everything was just fine." She gave him a bland little smile and reflected privately that what he didn't know couldn't possibly hurt him…or her either, for that matter!

* * *

_Chapter 2 makes brief reference to the February 28, 1981 episode "Also-Rans / Portrait of Solange", first story arc (in regard to the race between Satin Duke and Pomona Prince); and you might recognize the chateau and the property that eventually Maureen and Grady, and Christian and Leslie, would split between them and build their own homes on. The chateau and its original owner, Claude Duncan, featured in the February 7, 1981, episode "The Chateau / White Lightning", first story arc, with David Hedison as the silent-film actor._


End file.
